The moment I stepped off the plane, the crisp Australian breeze brushed against my skin. It was different—clean, unfamiliar, almost too peaceful. Like a place that didn't know who I used to be.
The Arcelli Empire had arranged everything. Of course they did. The villa they provided was breathtaking—perched on a hillside just outside the city, surrounded by nature that looked untouched by chaos. The structure itself was white stone and glass, minimalist but warm. The kind of house that made you forget you were supposed to be working. Everything inside was pristine—polished wood floors, open spaces that breathed, subtle touches of art and power.
They really expect us to live and work in the same place? How convenient. No space to run. No time to breathe.
There were offices for both of us. Beautiful, efficient. No doors between them.
Outside, a garden spilled into the horizon. Trees swayed with the wind, and for a second, I imagined myself dissolving into the scenery. No responsibilities. No expectations. No Lucien.
But then, we weren't alone.
She was already there, standing on the porch with a glass of wine like she belonged in a painting. Confident. Effortless.
"I'm Celeste Arcelli," she said, offering her hand with a kind smile. "Lucien's cousin. I arranged everything here. I hope it's to your liking."
Her handshake was firm. The kind of grip that said: I see more than I say.
"Elira Callista," I replied, matching her tone. "The place is beautiful. Thank you."
Her eyes lingered on me for a beat too long before flicking to Lucien—who, as always, was too close behind me.
She noticed it.
Everyone notices it. The way he watches me. Like I'm a puzzle he needs to solve, or worse, a prize he already owns.
Celeste tilted her head slightly, amusement dancing in her gaze. She wasn't asking questions out loud, but I knew she had them.
Lucien didn't say much. But his silence screamed.
He walked beside me, always a few inches too close, his attention anchored to everything I did. I could feel his eyes on the curve of my shoulder, the way I moved my hair, the way I breathed.
He looks at me like I belong to him. But I don't. No one owns me. Not anymore.
Still… part of me wondered if I said that to convince him, or to remind myself.
Celeste smiled faintly as she stepped aside. "Well, welcome to your new home."
I stared up at the villa, the windows catching the sunlight like glass blades.
New home, I echoed in my mind.
New home, same ghosts.
I bid my goodbye to Lucien and Celeste, keeping my voice neutral, unreadable. I needed solitude. As I climbed the stairs and entered the room assigned to me, I let out a slow breath.
It was beautiful—no, elegant. Soft blush-toned curtains, velvet armchair near the window, gold trimmings. Feminine in every way.
It didn't suit me.
I'm dull. Dark. Jagged at the edges.
Not someone who belongs to floral wallpaper and sunlight spilling across the sheets like spilled honey. Still, I didn't hate it. I stood by the window, staring out at the Australian horizon stretching endlessly. Trees rustled like whispers. The air smelled clean.
I've never felt this kind of warmth before.
This place felt like it was made to cleanse. To reset.
Maybe I needed that. Even if it was temporary. Even if the rot inside me was too deep to wash away. For the first time in a while, I felt... light.
Then came the knock.
Sharp. Brief. Just loud enough to pull me back into the world I was trying to escape.
I turned around.
Lucien stood by the doorframe—tall, poised, watching me like I was under inspection. There was something unnerving about the way he looked at me. Not intrusive, but aware. As if he could read through me and still kept looking anyway.
"Is there something you need, Lucien?" I asked, sharper than I intended.
"Lunch is ready. You haven't eaten since morning. Come downstairs—I cooked something." He smiled.
My brows twitched slightly.
Lucien. Cooking?
The mental image hit me instantly—him, shirt sleeves rolled up, apron cutting across that too-muscular body, probably making the kitchen look smaller just by standing in it.
A laugh escaped my lips, soft and sudden. "You have quite a surprising hobby."
He shrugged. "I enjoy making things with my hands. Besides, Celeste said you might skip meals if left alone."
That damned smile again. Soft. Unhurried. One that could convince someone he wasn't dangerous. One that could melt someone if they weren't paying attention.
I stared at him a second too long.
I must be crazy.
"Give me five minutes," I said, turning my gaze back to the window.
He didn't reply. Just nodded and disappeared quietly.
And somehow, that silence lingered more than his presence.
When I entered the dining area, the scent of warm food greeted me before anything else. The table was neatly set—too neat, like someone had gone out of their way to make it presentable. Celeste smiled the moment she saw me, a soft gesture, and motioned for me to sit.
I gave a small nod and took the seat across from her.
Lucien walked in from the kitchen, drying his hands with a cloth, then sat at the head of the table, naturally taking the center spot. It suited him—commanding presence, even in silence.
"Let's eat," he said simply.
I looked at the food laid out in front of me. It smelled good. Looked better. And when I took the first bite—it was delicious. Warm, well-balanced, comforting in a way I hadn't expected.
I hadn't realized how hungry I was until I started eating. I just... kept going.
In my peripheral vision, I caught him watching me. His expression was calm, yet there was a quiet satisfaction in his eyes, like he was proud I enjoyed what he made. He didn't say anything. Just smiled—genuine, subtle.
I didn't return it.
I've become too aware of him. The way he watches. The way he studies my reactions, like every twitch of my face meant something. I used to bristle at that. Still do, sometimes.
But now?
Now it doesn't bother me as much. Maybe because I've accepted it.
He'll be here. All throughout this journey. Shadowing me.
As my boss.
And no matter what I say or how I feel, I can't change that.
So I focus on the food. One bite at a time. Pretending his eyes don't follow my every move. Pretending this isn't the beginning of something I can't quite name.
_____
"Lira, I have to go. I'll visit next time, and then we can chat more," Celeste said, standing by the door with her bag slung over one shoulder.
"Leaving? Aren't you going to stay here?" I asked, almost too quickly.
She chuckled. "No, no. I've got a son and a husband to take care of, you know." She tilted her head, teasing. "Don't tell me you thought I'd be living here?"
I nodded, a little hesitant, maybe a little hopeful. The thought of having another woman around—someone as warm and lighthearted as her—felt oddly comforting.
She smiled knowingly, like she understood something I wasn't saying. "I got you. I'll come around when I have time, okay?"
With a soft wave, she walked out the door.
Then it hit me.
Lucien and I are the only ones left in this house. Just the two of us.
Great. Just great.